Ten Words
by Hikuya
Summary: Just ten mini stories featuring Ragetti and Pintel, with each word creating a story.


#1: Please

He hadn't meant to bring the boy. Lying on the blood spattered deck, the only survivor. Everyone else simply ignored him, stepping over or around him. He was a twig of a lad, all skin and bones and messy almost blond hair.

The boy didn't look like much of a soldier. He had probably been "volunteered" into the Navy. Now he was missing an eye and dying.

No, he hadn't meant to have anything to do with the boy, no older than seventeen. But when that one blue eye locked onto his, he knew what it was trying to tell him.

The kid was saying please.

#2: Telekinesis

I don't know how those two do it. They always seem to be on the same page. When one is getting tired, the other picks up the pace. Their work at the cannon can't be matched by anyone else.

On their own, neither is an amazing fighter, but together they're a killing machine. Anything becomes a weapon when those two are fighting as a team. It's quite a sight.

At first glance, you'd think they'd never get along. One gruff and with a nasty temper, the other a bit twitchy and dependent. But it works somehow. Like they're reading each others mind, or something.

#3: High

Pintel grumbled, scanning the moon lit deck.

"Bloody, thrice cursed, ninny…" Scowling, he continued his search for his missing mate. He finally spotted Ragetti, perched up in the rigging. Sighing heavily, he began climbing, until he was even with his distant friend.

"Oi, Rags! Wot ye doin' 'ere, mate?" Pintel would never admit it, but he'd been worried when the lanky pirate had vanished from his bunk.

"Finkin'."

"Ye're finkin'? 'Bout wot?" The stout pirate tried not to laugh. Ragetti almost never thought in general, and to imagine him thinking hard was a bit difficult to see him doing so.

"I bin finkin' 'bout 'ow nice it is ter feel 'gain."

"Aye. An'?"

"An' I didn' know 'ow much I'd missed it."

"Feelin'?"

"Aye. Feelin' things is real nice."

Pintel nodded, reveling in the wind wrapping around him. They both watched the sky turn pink and purple with the sunrise.

#4: Red

There 're lotsa things that're red. Me shirt's red, an' so's th' sky at dawn. Pinter's face's red when 'es mad. Blood is red, but so's a rose. I fink me mum's fav'rite dress was red. I can't remember an'more. Cap'n Jack's bandanna was red, an' so're Poppet's eyes.

Ain' it funny 'ow none o' 'em seems like th' others? I wonner if'n anybody else 'as noticed 'ow much everythin's more alike than people seems ter thin'. I shoul' go tell Pint 'bout wot I figgered out.

#5: Hilarious

They were lounging in one of the many bars that Tortuga had. Sadly, both men were totally sober. The older one was beginning to lose his hair and didn't look too happy about it. The other kept fiddling with a small wooden eye, apparently unable to sit still.

Suddenly, a young man with a slightly crazed look in his eye sat down across from the two.

"'Ello, gents!" He said cheerfully, undettered by the nasty look thrown his way by the shorter of the two.

"Wot d'ye wan'?"

"Why, t'see if'n ye an' yer mate would like t'become members o' me crew!"

"Who th' bloody 'ell are ye? An' why d'ye wan' us?"

"Well, ye two seem like seasoned sailors, and pirates. Can't be riskin' me boat, er, ship on amateurs."

"Makes sense ter me, Pint! C'mon, we needs a job! We're almost out o' money! We won't be able t' buy rum no more!" the lanky one said while popping in his eye with a bit of a squelch and a rotten toothed smile. Pintel nodded.

"Excellent! We sail tomorrow! Come to th' Black Pearl, Savvy?"

"Aye." The two friends watched their new captain wobble off and accost one of the whores.

"E's a bit funny, eh?" Ragetti noted.

"E's bloody 'ilarious. Now shut it an' lets git some rum. I fink we just made a bad mistake…"

#6: Pariah

The prison cell was dank, dark and dirty. The few pirates still left shuddered in the cold, damp air. In one of the corners sat two of the last sane prisoners. Huddled together, they watched as another of their own was dragged off to the gallows.

The thinner man shuddered at the fading screams, huddling closer to his balding at his swollen right eye socket, he gave a loud ragged cough, hacking viciously, body weakened by fatigue, chill, and poor nutrition.

"Pinters…"

"Aye?"

"We're goin' t' die, ain't we?"

"…'Prolly, Rags…'Prolly…"

Ragetti shuddered, curling into himself even more.

"Pint?"

"Wot now?"

"I wanted ter be a tailor. Ye know, when I were li'tle."

"…I were a carpenter 'fore I were a pirate."

"Is 'at 'ow ye made me eye?"

"Aye, lad."

The two sat, thinking on the others words.

"Pinters?"

"Wot, ye idjit?"

"'Ow'd we end up like this?"

"I dunno, Rags. We're jes' P'riahs."

"Jesus is th' messiah, Pint."

"Pariah! No' th' bloody messiah!" Pintel roared at his bible toting friend.

"Pint! Ye don' take th' Lord's name in vain!"

"Shut ye're trap! Anyways, a p'riah's an outcast o' society, see?"

"Oh…Aye, tha' sounds like us."

"Aye…Git some sleep, fool. Ye'll be needin' ye're strength."

And silence fell once more.

#7: Sword

The metal gleamed in the pale moonlight. The sharp blade was coated with blood and organs of its many victims. It was lovingly cared for. Edge newly sharpened, hilt carefully wrapped for a good grip. The whole thing polished to a perfect shine. Yes, thought Pintel, swords are beautiful things.

#8: Auspicious

Another day was drawing to a close on the infamous Black Pearl. Captain Jack Sparrow was at the helm with Elizabeth, making sure the heading was set.

Pintel was busy doing maintenance on his and Ragetti's canon, while the other pirate sat nearby, mending sails.

The dinner bell clanged, bringing the rest of the crew down into the hold/dining area. The two friends grabbed their food and escaped the din of the small room.

They settled on the deck, leaning against the main mast. The sun sunk slowly, staining the skies a deep red, reaching tendrils of flame into the oncoming darkness.

"Red skies in th' mornin', sailors take warnin'."

Ragetti, clearly having forgotten the rest of the rhyme, turned to his partner. Two pleading eyes, one wooden brown, the other a sparkling blue, locked on to the stouter ofo the two.

"Red skies at night, sailors delight, ye fool. 'Ow many times 're ye goin' ter fergit?"

"I thin' I go' it this time, Pint!"

"Ye better…"

#9: Rumplestiltskin

The sniffling was getting to be insufferable. Pintel rolled over, grumbling, attempting to get as comfortable as he could with his aching back.

"Damned, scurvy ridden, bilge rat!" He snarled, before sitting up with some difficulty. Poking the lump above him, the snuffles stopped altogether.

"Wot th' bloody 'ell is wrong wif ye?"

"Nufffin', Pint."

"Bullocks."

The sniffling resumed. Pintel sighed in agitation, before hauling himself out of the ragged hammock.

"Rags…"

"It's nuffin', Pint, really!"

"Ye always were a right awful liar."

More sniffles.

"C'mon, Rags."

"Promise ye won' laugh?"

"Course."

The skinny lump turned, and red rimmed eyes met his.

"I had a bad dream."

Pintel just stared at his comrade.

"A…bad dream?"

Ragetti nodded.

"It were very scary."

Pintel tried very hard not to strangle the fool. More sniffles.

"Stop tha'! Ye're a PIRATE, no' a woman!"

"M'sorry, Pinters…"

"Dun' 'pologize, ye idjit! Pirates dun' 'pologize!"

Ragetti started to say he was sorry, but clamped his mouth quickly shut, and attempted to control his snuffles.

"Ye're blubberin' like a baby."

"Pinters?"

"Aye?"

"Will ye tell me a story?"

There was a moments pause.

"WOT?!"

"Me mum told me stories when I were a lad, an' 'ad 'ad a bad dream."

"Do I look like ye're mum?"

"S'not wot I meant, Pint. M'sorry…"

Pintel decided the lad was almost not worth the trouble. Almost.

"Git down here, ye fool. I'll not be tellin' any tales wif ye hoverin' o'er me 'ead like tha'."

In an amazing scramble of flailing limbs, tangled clothing, and hammock, Ragetti managed to extricate himself from his bunk and land with a very solid thud on the floor. Pintel just rolled his eyes.

"Right. Well, once 'pon a time…"

And so the time passed.

"Th' li'tle fella stomped 'is foot an' vanished through a bif 'ole crack, an' th' lass lived 'appily e'er after wif King wotsisface an' their kid. Th' end." Pintel finished, felling very accomplished indeed.

Turning his head, he noted that Ragetti had made himself very comfortable. On Pintel's bunk. Glowering, he about kicked the lanky blonde. But his younger friend looked at peace for once.

Grumbling under his breath, Pintel eased out of the swinging bed. Taking Ragetti's bedding, he settled on the floor nearby. Before doing so, he tossed his own cover over the thin man, and proceeded to fall asleep himself.

He noted that his back didn't hurt that much anymore.

#10: People

I don' like people. All they do is 'urt ye, sayin' they're ye're friend, then robbin' ye blind. An' women. Pretty, but nasty. Gigglin', flirtin', then sneerin' at ye like ye're nuffin'. People lie 'n cheat 'n use ye.

I don' like people, but Pinters ain't a people. 'E's jes Pintel.


End file.
